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A FACSIMILE EDITION 

After 100 Years 
Of His First book 


AFTERWORD BY 

Sheldon w. Priest 



LC Control Number 



2001 524017 






rill': 


Birch 


Canol 


A FOREST IDYL. 


By 

Rev. Mark Trafton, D.D. 
Boston 

McDonald & Gill Company 
© Copyright 1892 


A Facsimile Edition 
after 100 Years 
Of His First Book 

AFTERWORD BY 
SHELDON W. PRIEST 
© COPYRIGHT 1996 


pSioeft 

,T&> o£ 

mb 

doftj / 


illotto. 

u For Nature ever faithful is 
To such as trust her ministries. 

When the forest shall mislead me, 
When the night and morning lie 
When sea and land refuse to feed me 
’Twill be time enough to die. 
Then will yet my mother yield 
A pillow in her greenest field, 

Nor June roses scorn to cover 
The clay of their departed lover.” 


Jntvobuction. 


The author of this beautiful poem is too Well known to 
need any formal introduction. “The Pirch Canoe” is not, 
as some may imagine, the child of poetic fancy, but a real 
excursion, made by the author on the upper Penobscot 
during many a summer vacation. The incidents and scenery 
so graphically described are real, and much of the night talk 
around the camp-fires are of legends familiar to those who 
have wandered through the forests of northern Maine. 

])r. Trafton has spent many a summer vacation amidst the 
charming scenes here so felicitously portrayed. And the 
reader will confess that many passages in this bright poem 
will not suffer in comparison with Longfellow’s best produc- 
tions. 

Put time warns our poet that the forest is not henceforth 
his place of rest. The graceful human birch which, for 
eighty-two eventful summers, has been impelled along the 
stream of life by the dip of Time’s golden oar, will soon 
make its final landing. Then, amidst the bowers which skirt 
the banks of that mystic river, where camp fires cease to 
burn and earth’s legends give place to eternal realities, he 
will rest forever in 

“ That summer land of song.” 

Poston, 1892. W. McDonald. 


The Birch Canoe. 


H Jfovcot 


i 

i. 

Hail, Mother Nature 1 in thy wildest moods 

J love thee best — the rolling thunder peal, 

The howling winds, the sombre, primal woods; 

Cloud shadows, which o’er shimmering meadows 
steal ; 

Night’s star-gemmed queen, upon her ebon throne ; 
And deep heart musings with myself alone. 


11 . 

Far from the crowded city’s noise and strife, 

Fashion’s mad follies, sorrow’s piercing moan, 
The crashing enginery of hurrying life, 

Mirth’s vapid smile, the hollow, dying groan, 
In the cool forest, where blest quiet reigns, 

Out of the world, with all its doubtful gains. 


8 


®l)c I3i vcl) <?T n noc. 


< 


I ii. 

Off for the forest; blankets, gnu and rod — 

Willi John of Niratou, full six fret, four; 

Throe choice companions, who have often trod 

The yielding moss, and love the torrent’s roar; 
Leaving all rare behind, away we hie 
Where the Penobscot's lakes in beauty lie. 

IV. 

Our dancing birches skim the quiet lake, 

(iraceful as swans upon the swelling ocean ; 

The lithesome paddles scarce a lipple make, 

As on we glide, the poetry of motion; 

And list — the song, “My baik is on the sea,” 

Moats on the air, in some wild melody. 

V. 

You have not seen a. birch? Well, see one, then, 
While to your fancy drawn with a free hand 
The gcim of naval architecture ; when 

Art rose to meet Necessity’s demand, 

She stripped the bin h tree, culled the c edar light, 
Pound with spruce roots, the scams pitched water- 
tight. 


I 


®lje Bird) <ffaito£. 9 


VI. 

Sharp at the ends, with thwarts of ash across, 

With graceful curves from center to her points; 
Lightness the aim, while yet of strength no loss; 

Yielding to motion, yet no creaking joints; 

No nails, nor bolts, no ringing hammers fall; 

The artist s tools, a hatchet, knife and 'awl. 


VII. 

To board, is not so safe as is a step 
Into a flat-boat or a seventy-four ; 

While, by your guide’s firm grasp, she’s steady kept, 
Her broadside pressing close the shelving shore, 
One foot you lift and set it in the center, 

Then raise the other quickly — thus you enter. 


VIII. 

Low on the bottom seated, limbs extended, 

Your paddle grasping firmly, shout, “All right ! ,f 
Now off she shoots, with little force expended, 

Over the waters like a ray of light; 

Or, in the stern erect, John sends her dancing 
Like a wild duck, up the bold rapids glancing. 


10 


ffilje Bird) CTimoc. 


IX. 

Penobscot, “ rocky river ! M how I love 

r Phy waters, calm, or broken into foam. 

Far distant fate may cause my feet to love, 

Yet back my heart comes to its primal home ; 
From thee, now parted many a weary year, 

Whose murmuring music soothed my infant ear. 


X. 

Arno, or 'Fiber, or dark Danube’s stream, 

Or winding Rhine, with castle-crowned heights, 
Or sluggish Thames, or gently gliding Seine, 

Or ancient Nile, which dusky Copts delights, 
Their charms so oft the minstrel’s lyre have strung, 
Joy of my youth, while thine are yet unsung. 

XI. 

Child of the fleecy snows ! whose infant birth 

Is where rough Winter holds his lengthened sway, 
Whose kingly mandate checks the rippling mirth 
Of the young brooklets, leaping on their way, 
Thy infant weakness, fed by nursing rills, 

Hursts through rough rocks and towering northern 
hills. 


I 


®l)e jSircl) ®mtoe.. 11 


XII. 

• 

And thou hadst sway, in all thy strength alone 

And wealth of beauty, ere man’s voice was heard ; 
Thy soothing music mingling with the tone 
Of wintry tempests, or the summer bird ; 

'J’he moose laved in thy waters, and the brood 
Of fluttering sea fowl skimmed thy rushing flood. 

XIII. 

Roll on, grand river I still thy waters course 
And fret, and boil along thy rocky shore, 
Hastening to reach again their primal source, 

Where they shall rest, and chafe thy banks no 
more. 

Thus on Time’s stream I glide, and long to be 
At rest upon that far-off, quiet sea. 

XIV. 

Yonder, behold I a nation’s ruins lie ; 

On that small island live the poet’s Los ; 
Sockbasin-swasson, Neptune, I espy, 

Sabbattis, Torus, and a score of Joes, 

With swarms of little Los of varying hue, 

From coal-black eyes to those of sapphire blue. 


12 


®l)c Bird) QTanoe. 


XV. 

Lords of these forests wide, how sadly changed, 
Crushed by the white race’s civilizing hand ! 
Once proudly free, they through these dark wilds 
ranged, 

Erect, athletic, a fierce conquering band, 

The lordly Tarratincs, the Mohawk’s foe, 

Whose wild, hot natures changed to this so low. 


XVI. 

Their lands are lost, their prestige and their, pride, 
Confined now to the islands in the river ; 

No more their hunters through the forest stride, 

With faithful dog, and bow, and bristling quiver ; 
No eagle plumes the summer breezes rustle, 
but see, instead, the banged hair and the bustle ! 


XVII. 

For them the State has built a modest church, 

Where a French priest mumbles some wretched 
Latin, 

The sanops now and then construct a birch, 

'The squaws now weave some baskets and some 
matting, 

While Lo is happy as a lord, and frisky 
With his tobacco and a jug of whiskey. 


®I)e Bird) GTmtoe. 


13 


XVIII. 

And this is what is done for that poor race, 

The full return for all that we have taken ; 

Their sober lives our vices now displace ; 

Their robes of furs and plumes they off have 
shaken ; 

They stroll around, like clumsy booted mousers, 

In some white dandy’s swallow-tail and trousers. 

* 

XIX. | 

Oh, for the savage life in forest wide, 

Where the moose ranges and the panther 
screams 1 

In the light birch to skim the silver tide; 

To spear the salmon in the rushing streams ; 

To fling the shout of freedom on the air, 

Wrapped in warm furs, and wearing one’s own hair. 


XX. 

Is this civilization, thus to be 

Robbed of one’s independence ; to assume 
Manners .and modes which e’en the blind may see 
Are artificial as a borrowed plume ; 

To wear the tyrant Fashion’s gyves, and bend, 

And fawn, and smirk, and lie, to gain an end? 


14 


®l)c Bird) Canoe. 


xx r. 

To give the hand, where one cannot the heart ; 

To crush one’s native manliness; to tread 
III others’ steps; to learn the baleful art 

Of hollow flattery, or be styled “ ill bred ? ” 
Rather than this, I would to forests go, 

Don the deer’s hide, and be the poet’s Lo. 


XXII. 

Enough I We pass; our graceful bark canoe 
Waits us at Nicatou and frets the tide ; 

Our modern modes have borne us thus far through. 

There on the bank appears each ready guide; 
Our city dress aside we quickly cast, 

Don the loose blouse, and gladly leave the past. 


XXIII. 


Two rivers here unite and join in one ; 

The natives seeing, cried out u Nicatou” — 

“ Union,” the twain hence in one channel run, 

As two fond hearts, joined by the nuptial vow ; 
And wild Penobscot, in his dashing pride. 

Wooes Matngamon as his blushing bride. 


® \)t Bird) (ttaitoe. 


16 


XXIV. 

1 lere Quakisli takes us to her quiet breast, 

The least of the grand sisterhood of lake£; 
Now the chafed waters find a moment’s rest, 

Ere the wild stream o’er Rockabema breaks ; 
So silent, save the distant waterfall, 

Or o’er the lake the loon’s wild mocking call. 


XXV. 

Night in the foresl. Silence and shadows meet, 

Our camp-fires flicker on the trembling leaves ; 
The wakeftd whippoorwill in tones so sweet 

All the long night in saddened cadence grieves; 
The short, sharp bark of prowling fox is heard, 

And hollow hootings of night’s dismal bird. 


XXVI. 


Not marble palace, with its gilded dome. 

And rich mosaic pavement, can compare 
With this, our simply furnished forest home, 

Free from restraint, and close, polluted air : 
Here we discuss and fix our future plan, 

And taste the freedom of primeval man. 


1G 


®l)c Bitd) (ffnitoc. 


XXVII. 

Hooks \vc have few, yet many storied leaves; 

No gamin’s crying, “ ’Krc'syer morning 7'imts !" 
No fear of burglar who by night relieves 

Some poor plethoric soul of surplus dimes ; 
Here, quiet by our campfire, we propose 
Kadi guide a tale relate, ere evening dose. 

XXVJI1. 

The lot is Ben’s, but now he pleads excuse, * 

Is “ low in spirits,” pressed by painful thought ; 
But Henry urges, “ Tell of the Kunk-soos, 

The * Indian devil,’ which you fiercely fought 
Back of the mountain yonder — this you can.” 

He blew a puff of smoke, and thus began. 

Ben’s Story. 

It was early in October, 

When the leaves were dead and falling, 

When the days were growing shorter, 

When the nights were long and chilly ; 

I had started out exploring 
Kor the winter’s cut of timber, 

For a company of loggers. 

All alone I went, yet fearless ; 


®I)C Bird) Qtnnoe. 


17 


Started ns I often hnd done, 

'J nking only what was needful ; 

With my knapsack on my shoulders, 

With my lines and hooks for trouting, 

With my blanket and provisions; 

In my belt my knife and hatchet, 

Light and keen to cut my camp wood. 
Thus I started with old Hero, 

He my only tried companion; 

Oft we ranged the woods together, 

Oft together had been hunting, 

Spent the winters with the loggers ; 

Never dog so wise and knowing, 

Never dog so true and faithful, 

Never dog so full of courage ; 

Fear I never felt, nor anxious, 

Tramping through dark, tangled forests, 
Through dark nights of storm and tempest, 
Needing never chart or compass, 

Needing never stars or landmarks; 

Never care or forethought needing, 

Saying only, " Camp now, Hero,” 

And at once he led me to it. 

Camping now where night o’ertook us, 
Lopping some overhanging branches, 
lied at once, and shelter gave us; 

With our campfire burning brightly, 


18 


®l|e Bivtl) Ctinoc. 


Flashing out its mimic fireworks. 

Oft I heard the startling outcry 
Of the dismal owl at midnight, 

Or the wild and angry howling 
Of the prowling wolf at midnight ; 

Heard, hut felt no fear or terror 
While I watched the changing shadows 
Of my campfire weird and fitful, 

Hero by my side so watchful. 

Where is Hero? Do not ask me ; 

Were, he living, you would see him. 

Down his cheeks the tears were dropping, 
On his flowing heard were falling, 

As he paused and wiped them quickly ; 
Then resumed : — 

Forgive tli is weakness. 

Now you know why yonder mountain 
brings this sadness, this depression : 

That I’m here, I owe to Hero, 

Faithful friend, who died to save me. 

Up the East Branch we had traveled, 

To the north side of Katahdin, 

Looking for a grove of timber, 

Fine and spruce which rumor placed there. 
You, who've climbed the mountain yonder, 


ID 


®l)e Bird) Canoe. 


Saw fnr clown the ragged north side 

Deep ravines, so wild and dismal, 

Filled with broken rocks and windfalls, 

Through which roared the frothy torrents, 

Shaded, gloomy, dark, unearthly; 

There the red men say Pomoln, 

The bad spirit, holds dominion, 

There lie holds his court infernal ; 

(» really dread they those dark gorges, 

Slum them as they fear Pomola ; 

Fear him as they fear the devil. 

% 

Day by day I had been tramping, 

Now through groves of smooth-barked beeches, 
Where the nuts were thickly falling, 

Nuts the squirrels store for winter, 

While the yellow leaves were rustling; 

Now through masses of dark hemlocks, 

With tall spruces intermingled ; 

Living thing I saw but seldom. 

Now and then I flushed a covey 
Of wild partridge, or of wood-duck; 

Then, a startled deer saw leaping, 

Hero on his track loud yelping ; 

Put exploring, and not hunting, 

0 

To such game gave slight attention. 

I had located my timber, 

Plazcd the trees for bounds and limits, 


20 


®l)c Dial) Qnnor. 


Marked the favored streams for landing, 
And, all done, had started homeward. 

Hut I marked a change in Hero; 

On the second day 1 noticed 
He was not so free and playful, 

Leaped not far ahead, as usual, 

'Treeing bird or chattering squirrel, 
Scattering the dry leaves about him ; 

Hut, instead, he followed after, 

Kept close to me in my footsteps, 

Looking often back and growling, 

Bristling, and his ears erecting, 

Sidewise turned his head and listening, 
While his eyes were wild and burning. 
Noting this, I oft looked backward, 
Nervous grew, and apprehensive 
That behind me lurked some danger, 

'That some foe was on me stealing ; 

Felt a heart oppressive, sinking, 

As we ofttimes feel an evil, 

A foreboding of some danger. 

Vet I paused not, but pressed onward 
Through the thick, o’erbranching hemlocks, 
Hoping soon to strike a meadow 
And emerge from this dread shadow 
Into clear and cheerful sunlight. 

How 1 longed for my good rifle; 


®l)e Bird) <2Tnnoe. 


21 


Loosened in my belt my hatchet, 

Loosed the straps, too, of my knapsack, 
Ready for a race or climbing. 

Hero growled ; I heard a snapping 
As of twigs or yielding branches, 

Heard the branches bending, swaying, 

As when heavy winds arc rising; 

Turned and looked — not ten yards distant, 
On a huge limb, crouched a cougar ; 

His tail his yellow sides was lashing, 

Like living coals his wild eyes burning, 
Showing his long fangs and growling. 

Hero saw and sprang towards him ; 

With a shriek that shook the forest, 
Launched the fiend, like lightning, on him. 
Rent him as you’d rend a leaflet. 

Rut that short encounter saved me. 
Dropping now my knapsack quickly, 

Up a maple sapling near me, 

Sprang and reached the lower branches; 

't hrew my left arm round the sapling, 

With my right hand grasped my hatchet. 
Leaping ten feet up, the monster 
Ran out on a limb, and crouching, 

With a yell that oft now wakes me, 

Drove he like a streak of lightning 
Full upon me, sidewise swaying ; 


22 


®l)e Bird) (Conor. 


Met him my descending hatchet, 

Down the keen blade on his shoulder 
Crashing fell ; the hot bipod spouted, 
Hut his claws laid one leg open 
As he passed five yards beyond me. 
Roaring now with pain and madness, 
Hack he leaped ; I ne’er saw motion 
In a living creature like it, 

Reached the limb and sprang upon me, 
In his jaws my right foot crushing ; 
Down upon his head descending 
Came with such good aim my weapon 
That one eye gushed from its socket; 
Down he dropped, with yell of anguish. 

Hut my wounds were bleeding freely, 
Faint I grew, almost despairing; 
Thought of home and of the loved ones, 
Thought of all my sinful failings, 

Lived an age in those few moments; 
Tried to pray, but brief my thinking. 
Life was sweet — I roused my courage, 
Nerved me for a last encounter, 
lie, my foe, now moved more slowly, 
Mounted to his perch, not vanquished, 
For who ever slew a u J.unk-soos?” 
Who o’crcame an “ Indian devil ? ” 

On he drove, his right claws striking, 


®l)c Bird) Qtcmoc. 


23 


Tenting nil my thigh asunder. 

I with my last force his forearm 
Struck; he dropped. I heard a baying, 

Rifles crack, a shout — I knew not 
Whence, or whom — I sank in shadows. 

I woke at last in*cainp, surrounded 
lly my rescuers, some hunters, 

'l ending me with all compassion. 

His talc was done ; with bated breath 
Kach listener sat, and pale as death. 

Kyes peer into the forest gloom. 

Hal what’s that cry? A wakeful loon. 

Kach saw his rifle cap all right, 

Rose, heaved a sigh, and said good-night. 

XXIX. 

Mortl in the forest. Hushed the balmy air; 

The quivering leaves hang pendent on the bough. 
Lo ! old Katalulin’s distant summit, where 
The early sun gilds all his noble brow 
I .ike some old giant rising from his sleep, 

While down his sides night’s stealthy shadows creep. 

XXX. 

The leaping brooklets sparkle in the rays, 

While dashing down the mountain’s rugged side 


24 


0l|c LHvd) (Tattoo. 


To the mlm lake, o’er whirl) n silver haze 

bloats like a veil uppn some Mushing biidc ; 
And list I a plash, ns tip a trout springs high, 

Shows his bright sides and snaps the hovering lly. 

XXXI. 

The heavy night dews drip from leaf to leaf 

Nature’s rich balm which she for man distils, 
A sovereign panacea for the grief 

Which city care the throbbing bosom fills, 

So cool, so pure, so full of lusty health, 

Exhaustless source of true, substantial wealth. 

XXXII. 

Oh, who would spend life's brief and fleeting day 
In the thronged streets of cities? jostled there 
lly hurrying crowds each rushing on his way, 

llreath hot with fever, hearts sunk in despair, 
Where a mad frenzy burns for godless gains, 

And fickle fashion in proud grandeur reigns. 

XXXIII. 

A hollow, heartless, artificial life, 

All bright without, all rottenness within. 
Unequal battle, fierce, yet gainless strife, 

Where Virtue sinks before the giant Sin ; 
Where manhood, conscience, self-respect expire, 
Wrapped in the quenchless flames of passion’s fire. 


®I)C Ditcl) ®nnoc. 


25 


XXXIV. 

I'lic crowded theaters each night ablaze, 

Where mimic life in tinsel thin appears, 

Where vice in mask meets the admiring gaze 

And sorrow’s semblance fills the eyes with tears, 
While real suffering stalks each crowded street, 
Treading its weary way with bleeding feet. 

XXXV. 

O simple youth 1 who seek the city’s mart, 

Leaving the fields and forests rich and rare, 

To go to struggle where the laboring heart 

Throbs with the pressure of a weight of care, 
'The young, fresh life exhausted in its prime, 

And hope's bright sun goes down ere evening time. 

/ 

XXXVI. 

Few are our wants ; why, then, this lifelong strain? 
And brief our days ; why shorten them with 
haste ? 

Hitter our lot; why, then, augment the pain? 

True gain is small ; why, then, this reckless 
waste? 

The siren Pleasure sings but to decoy, 

And drops the poison in each cup of joy. 


2 (> 


®l)c Divcl) (ffnnoc. 


XXXVII. 

Como from the city which proud man has made ; 
Conic to the country which Cod made for 
man ; 

Come where the rich, green carpets all arc laid ; 

Come, see the fullness of II is wondrous plan. 
Food, drink and air supplying all your needs, 

Come to the forest, ye whose torn heart bleeds. 

XXXVIII. 

How the pulse quickens in this forest air; 

The bounding heart exults in fullest glee ; 

Age calls back youth ; hope laughs at dark despair; 

The weary brain from throbbing pains is free. 
'The sinking spirits feel the rising tide, 

And stooping forms stand up in youthful pride. 


XXXIX. 

The morning calls. We leap from fragrant beds, 

Rush down the bank and seek the gliding river, 
Beneath translucent waters plunge our heads, 

Inhale the inspiring air and bless the Giver. 
Then join our voices in a matin song, 

Till echoes wake and the glad strains prolong. 


®l)c Bird) (ttunoc. 


27 . 


XL. 

But now the order comes, " Break camp ; M we start, 
Our tents we strike, and baggage snugly pack, 
The birch is launched, we joyfully embark ; 

Like well-trained soldiers, who, their arms in 
stack, 

Hear the loud bugle call, “ Stand to your arms/' 

We start to explore Lake Pumadumcook’s charms. 

0 

XLL 

'Through the north twin we reach this glorious lake, 
Smooth as a mirror, while the rising hills, 
Clothed in dark green, a splendid border make, 
Sending the tribute of their rippling rills, 

While some huge bowlders on the distant shore 

9 

Seem white-winged shallops passing slowly o’er. 


XLII. 

'The morning zephyrs bear a rich perfume; 

We rest upon our paddles to inhale 
Odors such as from vineyards in full bloom, 

Or blest Arabia’s richly scented gale ; 

And sec, the lake seems bound by snowy shore, 
Where the white lilies sweetest perfumes store. 


28 


®l)c Divcl) ffinnoc. 


xu II. 


The noisy loons, with wild and clamorous cry, 

(lather in groups, scared by the paddles' plash ; 
Vainly our marksmen draw a bead to try 

Their vaunted skill, — they vanish at the flash ; 
Then rise far distant, shake their dripping wings; 
Their mocking laugh far o’er the water rings. 


XUV. 


Mark that lone duck, whose eyes the lake explore, 
Sleepless, alert, to sense all dangers nigh : 

Her half-fledged brood feed near the sedgy shore, 
She sees the foe, and sends a warning cry ; 
Instant with wings and feet they speed away, 
Lashing the waters into blinding spray. 


XLV. 


Dipping our paddles wc give rapid chase, 

Our birches swiftly through the waters glide, 
Still on they speed, it seems an even race. 

They tire, the mother now flics far aside ; 
She seems disabled, all her arts she tries 
'lo turn upon herself the hunters’ eyes. 


®lje Bird) QTnnoe. 


29 


XLVI. 

« 

i 

In vain ; she sees for them the race is lost, 

But not her love ; she gives a cry and flies ; 

At once, like pebbles on the waters tossed, 

The brood, thus warned, beneath the water 
dives, 

While, as a speck, far on the distant shore, 

The mother sinks — we see the flock no more. 


XLVII. 

Left, not forgotten ; she will surely come 

Back to her loved ones when the danger’s past ; 
Ilark 1 even now we hear the ringing hum 

Of her swift wings, to them returning fast. 

Ilcr scattered young beneath the surface rest, 
Waiting the call to gather to her breast. 

XLVIII. 

We call this instinct — nay, 'tis reason’s light. 

Instinct provides for nature's plain demands, 
Defense in danger, or escape by flight, 

But fails in strategy, foresight, plans; 

And thus she reasoned, “ If I flee, may be 
The foe will leave my young, and turn on me.” 


30 


(ffl)c Bird) (fftmoc. 


XI. IX. 


What wealth of beauty hidden in these wilds, 
Shut in from artist’s or the poet’s eye ! 

Here summer revels, autumn sadly smiles 

To the dull woodman passing heedless by. 
Sublimest solitude, and srenes so fair, 

No cities’ splendors ran with these compare. 

I, 

Here, o’er these lakes, long centuries ago, 

The roving savage pushed his birch canoe ; 
Through these dark forests roaming to and fro, 
Vengeance or venison alone in view. 

A hundred years will change these sylvan scenes, 
'The whistling engine drown the eagle’s screams. 



High noon I and list: the welcome murmurs rise 
Of rushing waters o’er the ragged stones ; 
'The long-sought inlet greets our searching eyes ; 

We land, and dinner for our fast atones. 
'Then round the rapids our light birches take, 
And launch again upon a lovely lake. 


®I)C Dircl) dnnoc. 


31 


LIL 

Three placid lakes here lie, joined to each other 
Tty roaring rapids and long dark lagoons, 
Called “the Joc-Mary,” but if Joe was brother, 
Lover, or husband, our wisest sage assumes 
No skill to solve ; tradition license takes 
To call the trio “the Joe-Mary Lakes.” 


LI II. 

Yet let us fancy Joe wooed Mary here, 

Or may be drowned her, or may barely be 
That Mary jilted Joseph, when a tear 

Oozed from his eye, and formed this inland 
sea. 

Hut, wooed or lost, beneath this summer sheen 
No poet’s eye ere saw a fairer scene. 


LIV. 

Night’s shadows fall. We seek a sheltering isle, 

Clad in dark evergreens, with pebbly shore; 
Supper and song our past day’s toils beguile, 

Night broods upon the heated earth once more. 
Our campfires blaze, upon fresh boughs reclined, 

The lot is drawn the evening tale to find. 


32 


®l)c Bird) (£iinoc. 


I A’. 

John draws the fatal lot — his modest pride 

Mantles his manly cheeks; he docs not smoke, 
So lacks that inspiration on his side ; 

Vet very gravely, not designed a joke, 

Says, “ What I may rehearse to-night shall be, 

The sober truth, and not a phantasy.” 

John’s Story. 

I shall relate what oft was told 
By aged Indians of old, 

Of a fair maid, whose deathless name 
By her pure love is linked to fame. 

On Deipskcneng’s bold eastern shore, 

A ragged cliff hangs beetling o’er ; 

Rich, crimsoned mosses on its face, 

The dark, wild whirlpools at its base, 

Boiling and surging round and round, 

A depth no plummet yet has found ; 

So wild, no Indian ventures nigh, 

But silent, shoots his swift birch by. 

They say above the roaring flood 
Is heard a shriek that chills the blood, 

This legend still the red men keep, 

And call that cliff the “ Lovers’ Leap.” 


®l)c Bird) Canoe. 


33 


Long years before the white man came, 

A terror was the Mohawk’s name; 

It stirred the blood, it raised the fears, 

When breathed in a Penobscot’s ears ; 

While mothers hushed the infant’s cry 
Hy whispering, "The Mohawk’s nigh ! M 
From the St. Lawrence oft was made 
by these fierce bands a murderous raid 
On the brave Tarratines below; 

Forced from their hunting grounds to go, 
From these grand lakes were backward driven, 
From lands the Manitou had given, 

They ventured scarce to launch a birch, 

'They hardly dared for game to search ; 
Crowded and crushed, their spirits broke, 

They groaned beneath the Mohawk’s yoke : 
'They sullenly retire, hard pressed, 

And find at Nicatou brief rest. 

Years passed. One winter day a scout 
brought word the Mohawk’s bands were out, 

In camp by Millinokct’s lake, 

Southward intend their raid to make. 

Aroused, the Tarratines prepare 
To march and meet their focman there; 

They pass wild Rockabcma’s tide, 

Pass Quakish on its northern side, 


34 


®l)c Bivtl) (tfauoc. 


Then turning north press on nil night 
Led by the pole star’s steady light. 

They see, as morning brightly broke, 

The focmen’s campfire’s curling smoke ; 

That splendid lake, from shore to shore, 
Solid and smooth was frozen o’er. 

They camp; but when the morn’s first beam 
On old Katahdin’s brow is seen, 

The scouts the stealthy foe descry. 

Painted and plumed, now drawing nigh, 

Silent, in single file they show 

One hundred strong, but moving slow, 

For on this smooth and glassy plain 
Hardly their footing they maintain; 

Heedless they march, they little dream 
A watchful eye their force has seen ; 

Stealing like wolves upon the fold, 

'They hope to strike their foes of old 
With torch and tomahawk a blow 
Which leaves not one their fate to show. 

Ambushed, the Tarratines abide ; 
blankets and packs are cast aside ; 

Quick to each foot is bound the skate, 

Each heart is hot with burning hate ; 

The bow and tomahawk they seize, 

Leave with a yell the sheltering trees; 


®!)c Bird) (ffunoc. 


35 


Oil the hard ice the irons ring, . 

Agile as birds upon the wing 

They sheer, they wheel, halt or advance, 

Like movements in the mazy dance. 

The war-whoop give, then on they fly ; 

The foe flings back the wild war cry. 
Surprised, appalled, the Mohawk band, 
Crowded together, make a stand ; 

'They string and bend their bows in vain, 
The whistling arrows thick as rain 
Tierce harmless the impassive air, 

Or cut the ice like ploughman’s share ; 
While circling round the skaters fly 
Like meteors in the midnight sky, 

And shrill and sharp each bow-string rings, 
The arrow through the crisp air sings, 
Single* and seeks its destined mark, 
Piercing a hated Mohawk’s heart. 

Now swifter wheels the circle round, 
Nearer, still nearer, draws the bound; 

The open ranks arc closing fast, 

'The bow they drop, the hatchet grasp; 
With one wild yell of deathless hate 
'They close — each Mohawk met his fate. 
Slain or fast bound the warriors lay, 

The victors strip and scalp their prey, 

"Then homeward march in proud array, 
Exultant in the well-fought day. 


36 


®lje Bird) (ffmioc. 


At Nicatou the selling sun 
Ilis daily race had hardly run, 

When echoing far the forest through 
Was heard the welcome " scalp-halloo.” 

With scalps and captives safe returned, 

Kach savage heart with triumph burned, 

With reason, for that crushing blow 
JIas laid the haughty Mohawk low. 

The tribe now wait the coming day 
To wake the wildest revelry, 

When through the gauntlet’s torturing course 
Each flying wretch they swiftly force ; 

Or, bound against the fatal tree, 

The mark for youthful archery ; 

Or, in the slow, consuming fire 
'Fo glut the savage's baleful ire. 

Now rose the crackling watchfire bright, 
Flashing far round its lurid light ; 

Exhausted by the hard-fought day, 

Eost in deep sleep each warrior lay; 

The guarded captives safely bound, 

And night and silence reign around. 

Now, gliding by the camp-fire’s flame, 

'The chieftain’s daughter softly came. 
Graceful her step as a young doe, 


®l)c Bird) (flanoe. 


37 


1 1 is only child, he watched her grow 
In budding beauty day by day, 

His only solace, since he lay 
Iler mother’s wasted form away. 

Among the captives of the fight 
One only struck her startled sight. 

'That manly form at once she knew, 
llis eagle eye a quick glance threw; 

The crimson o’er her fair cheek spread, 

A Hush, then, pale as sheeted dead. 

The reason of the late raid, she 
Reads like an opening mystery. 

’Twas a fond lover’s artful wile 
To catch once more a maiden’s smile ; 

1 1 is purpose, by a night surprise, 

To set this star in northern skies. 

They loved; — hereditary foes 
May feel the shaft which Cupid throws. 
They once had met : one summer’s day 
Through forest shades she took her way, 
Plucking the wild (lowers blooming there, 
Weaving them with her raven hair. 

Then in the stream that murmured past, 
She blushed to see her visage glassed. 
Twas now the sultry midday hour, 

She felt the heat’s oppressive power; 
Near by a noble hemlock stood, 


38 


<3l)c Bivtl) (fTitiior. 


The gloomy monarch of the wood ; 

Its pendent branches swept the ground 
And spread refreshing shade around. 
Here in this cool, inviting bower 
She paused to pass the noontide hour; 

A fan, composed of oaken leaves, 

Calls to her cheek a cooling breeze ; 
Humming some wild and plaintive air, 
She seems a wood nymph resting there. 
Soothed by the water’s droning tone, 
Sleep had her mantle o’er her thrown. 

A startling scream ! She wakes to see 
A wild cat on a neighboring tree 
Crouched for the leap ; his burning eyes 
Flash fire ; in vain the maiden tries 
To fly; he drops his head to spring, 
When sudden, from the whistling string, 
An arrow swift as lightning (lew, 

Piercing the monster’s vitals through. 

She swooned ; but when again she woke, 
What wondrous vision on her broke ! 

An Indian youth knelt by her side, 

Whose dress proclaimed a stranger tribe. 
Her senseless form lie to the wave 
Had borne, with which her brow to lave; 
The fierce beast on the bank lies slain ; 
'Hie youth his bow resumes again. 


39 


®lje Uird) (ffmioc. 


Majestic in his port he stood, 

A youthful chief of Mohawk blood. 

She saw it all ; her eyes grew dim, 

She felt she owed her life to him ; 

Her lips would bless him, but she knew 
Nothing of Mohawk tongue; but who 
That ever felt love’s witching spell, 

But knows it needs not words to tell? 

Her eyes too well the truth betrayed, 

While his gave to the blushing maid 
Assuring sign. Enough ; they loved, 

And mutely sealed the vows approved. 

* 

A captive now among his foes, 
To-morrow to his death-stake goes; 

She marked the lodge where he lies bound, 
With stealthy step the place she found ; 
The watchfire there is burning low, 

The ghostly shadows come and go. 

She lifts the curtain — there between 
1 1 is guards her lover’s form is seen. 

Their usual watch they fail to keep, 

And wearied now are locked in sleep. 

His bonds she severs; he is free ! 

Now rising on one bended knee, 

The gleaming knife she passes o’er; 

He strikes; his guards will wake no more. 


40 


®lje Bird) ®mioc. 


As antlered buck which hems the hounds, 
Seizing the maid, away he hounds. 

No foot than his was found more fleet, 

A double motive wings his feet ; 
ft nerved him in the fatal strife, 

The love of maiden, now of life. 

The river’s frozen bosom crossed, 
t hey soon in forest depths are lost ; 

'They cross the Millinokct’s stream, 

On Quakish saw the moonlight gleam, 

O’er Ambegegis urge their way, 

Reach Deipskencag at close of day. 

That tall cliff overhangs its base, 

And oft when wearied in the chase 
A cool, secluded, spacious cave 
A shelter to the hunter gave. 

Here, now, they rest ; he knew the pack 
Of hungry wolves were on his track. 

Short rest, but while a watch he kept 
I he weary maiden calmly slept. 

Soon as the morning (lushed the sky 
II is ear detects the warning cry 
Of baying hound ; the foe is nigh ; 

For them no chance is left by (light, 

'The leading focman full in sight, 
lie looked upon the sleeping maid, 


®I)e Bird) QTanoc. 


41 


And can he leave her thus betrayed? 
lie lifts her in his arms, and now 
Seeks the tall cliff’s o’erhanging brow. 

The headmost foeman knew. him well, 

The forest rings with murderous yell, 

1 1 is death song rises on the air, 

Not coward fear, but calm despair. 

He clasps the maiden to his breast, 

Her beating heart to his is pressed ; 

A score of bow-strings sharply ring, 

A score of arrows leave the string, 

But ere one shaft had found its mark, 

They leap into the waters dark ; 

1 1 is quavering death-notes rising o’er 
The wintry torrent’s sullen roar. 

And oft the boatmen passing hear 
Sounds which their bosoms thrill with fear. 

V % 

The fire is low, the tragic tale is o’er, 

We seek our fragrant beds to rest once more. 

One, thoughtful, murmured as he passed along, 
“Ah ! yes; a woman’s love is wondrous strong.” 

The morning breaks. On every mountain head 
Blazes and burns the day-god’s banner red ; 

The fleecy clouds that fleck the bright’ning sky, 
Like doves, away on purple pinions fly. 


42 


®l)c Bird) (ffnnoc. 


Tar rising vapors from flic* tpiiet lake 
Weird shadows cast and forms f ;i n t;ist i<: take. 

“ These heavy mists,” the guides low speaking say, 

“ Foretell a rain before the dose of day." 

And see ! Katahdin, though long past the dawn, 

II is nighteap from his head has not yet drawn ; 
Those whistling flocks which o’er the waters speed 
Seek some lagoon where cpiiet they may feed. 

Yon awkward heron marks the rising day, 

Spreads his broad wings and slowly sails away. 

The heavy night dews drip from leaf to leaf, 

As sorrow’s bitter drops from eyes of grief ; 

The crackling camp-fires rise, the curling smoke 
In spiral columns wraps the spreading oak. 

() cheerful scene, exhilarating hour ! 

A stoic’s heart must feel its thrilling power. 

Our souls, disburdened in a place like this, 

Kxult, nor wish for higher earthly bliss; 

No griefs to soothe, no want to be supplied, 
but breakfast, and the cook will that provide ; 

What though no plate but tin adorns our board, 

No modern luxuries with our frugal hoard, 

No cringing butler at our elbow waits 
To catch our nod, and change our scarce soiled 
plates ; 

What though no board, but, seated on a log, 

Kach takes his tin and helps himself to prog ! 


Slje Uivcl) ©aitoe. 


43 


Wc need hut this — life’s tempting luxuries bring 
Increasing wants; from one a thousand spring. 

Had we the silver — then we want the safe ; 

Then at the income tax we fret and chafe. 

Had we the luxuries — then the doctor waits 
To smooth the way through Hades* gloomy gates. 
Or flocks of servants — mistress scolds and fumes, 
Numbers the napkins, daily counts the spoons; 
Servant of servants and a slave of slaves, 

Must be the soul who such surrounding craves. 

Hail, forest life 1 with no encroaching care, 

Our simple wants, a shelter, food and air. 

The boughs the first ; from sparkling lake and wood 
We draw unchallenged our supply of food. 

Wc wing the duck, in vain his rapid flight; 

We lure the trout from mountain torrents bright; 
Fritters, which John with* seidlitz powders raised, 
Relished by all, by all unsparing praised ; 

A rasher, roasted on a pointed stick, 

With steaming Mocha, fragrant, strong and thick. 
'Falk of French cooks, of Soyer and de-Blot, 

Of “Chinese bird nests,” or the Turk’s “pillau,” 
Pate de foie gras, or the esteemed “ragout” — 

All sink before our steaming muskrat stew.* 

Hail, sylvan scenes I hail, freedom from the chains 
Of tyrant Fashion, where she ruthless reigns 1 
Here to the few remains a chosen. place, 


44 


®l)c Dircl) (Entuif. 


Where ne’er is seen (he (Snindy's painted face; 

Far, far removed from Wall Street’s babel din, 
Where Jenkins never shows his shaven chin ; 

With thoughts above the gains of paltry pelf, 

And, self-sustained, man dares to be himself. 

Hark! “All aboard!” the cver-welcome cry ; 
We seize our traps and to the waters hie ; 

Karly we start, for ere the day is o’er 

Four splendid lakes we cross from shore to shore. 

Off all together, four canoes abreast, 

Plying our paddles with an Indian’s zest. 

The rushing outlet’s stream anon we reach ; 

Again debark, and track the rocky beach ; 

Or, when impeded by the foaming flood, 

The shore we leave and try the tangled wood, 

O’er rocks, and roots, and logs, through marshy 
brakes, 

Through shaky bogs, his way each slowly takes, 

While down the rocky stream the cautious guide 
'The lightened birches o’er the rough rocks glide. 

We reach the lake, now smooth the waters lie, 
Kmbark again and swift our |>addlcs ply. 

The third is crossed and now again we reach 
Familiar spot — old Pumadumcook’s beach. 

Hut ah, how changed I the daik semi wildly flics, 
Thousands of white-caps meet our anxious eyes ; 


®l)e Uiitl) (Canoe. 


4o 


The rain-clouds roll along the leaden sky, 

The white gulls scream their storm-forewarning cry; 
We turn the glass to scan the distant shore, 

In doubt to venture, or to camp once more. 

Within a jutting point we sheltered lay, 

Our dancing barks seem eager for the fray. 

As the trained steed restrained by curb and rein, 

Paws the hard soil and snuffs the embattled plain, 
The rein now loosed, he neighs a wild “ ha ha,” 
Flings himself wildly on the tide of war, 

Thus, our impatient barks the waters ride, 

Plunge, rise and roll, and dip the swelling tide. 

“We’ll try 1 ” cries Priest, and dips his paddle deep ; 
'Phe birch, like startled doe, with reckless leap 
Cuts the rude billows like a swan at play, 

Flings from her plunging bows the snowy spray ; 
Another follows, and another yet, 

While John and I still undecided sit; 

Palance at once the birch and chance for life, 

If mingling in this elemental strife; 

Poth are unwilling to confess to fear, 

Vet feel ’tis cowardly to linger here. 

Are others swamped? — to aid we should be nigh, 
Like friends to rescue or like heroes die. 

Far out like cockles on the white-capped plain 
The birches rise in sight, now sink again. 

We dip our paddles, swift our light birch speeds 


®l)c Bird) (Elinor. 


4b 


Through (he (hick mist where our Inst comrade lends. 
l)|> (he long hike (he rising south wind roots, 

The rain from heavy clouds in torrents pours; 

We strain our eyes to see our struggling friends, 

Each plays the man and to his paddle bends. 

Now in mid lake we hold our wave- tossed way, 

Hard on the sens or yield and bear away ; 

We reach the lee of a broad, sheltering isle, 

The smoother waters former fears beguile. 

John’s brawny arm now gives tremendous sweeps, 

The startled birch like hunted dun-deer leaps ; 

A race for life, six lengthened miles across, 

While the wild winds the tumbling billows toss. 

We gain ; we near them holding on their course, 
Each plies his paddle with redoubled forc e : 

We're coming up ; we closely press the rear, 

Excited now, we send a ringing cheer. 

“A race ! a race !" we shout ; they catch the cry. 

“A race it is ! ” the distant tones reply. 

We shout a challenge to the fleet entire ; 

!»y pleasant jibes we fan ambition’s fire. 

We pass the first and bantering call to know 
If, wearied out, they would not have a tow. 

Soon passed another on the flying track, 

We shout to learn why they arc going back. 

Then as the last into the rear is thrown, 

We ask the strangers when they left their home. 


47 


®l)c Bird) CTanor. 


Up through Jnck-chcatus* devious pass we glide, 
In Ambegcgis’ land-locked bay now ride. 

Our tents arc pitched with Nature’s quiet blest, 
We here prepare to pass the day of rest. 


A Sam hat! i Song. 

The morning breaks, the storm is o’er ; 

The resting, tranquil waters lay 
Within this narrow, sheltered bay, 

Glassy and bright, from shore to shore. 

And hark 1 from the dark, slumberous trees 
Nature’s grand anthem richly swells, 

So soft, so sweet, like silver bells 
Floating upon the morning breeze. 

f 

The air, the woods, the waters, call 
To every living, sentient thing 
Their choicest gifts of song to bring 
To God, their Author, all in all. 

We want no human temple now, 

The rich groined arch, the sculptured stone, 
The pealing organ’s thunderous tone, 

The surpliced priest to bend and bow. 


48 


0l)c Bird) €nnoc. 


All — all is temple — God in nil, 

On every thing the stamp divine, 

On scented lily, towering pine, 

In echoes of the waterfall. 

God ! how the grateful bosom swells, 

While gazing on yon brightening sky, 

'That awful presence seems so nigh, 

We bow where the Eternal dwells. 

These solitudes II is presence fills, 

As in eternity alone ; 

Kre morning stars, or sung or shone, 
lie sat on the eternal hills. 

’ Tis God alone; created hand 
Is not in all this treasured good ; 

Mountains and rivers, rocks and wood, 

Rise, run and wave at 1 1 is command. 

And we, here meeting far, remote, 

His treasured riches to enjoy, 

Our thoughts, our words, our powers employ, 
To join with these one grateful note. 

On worthy, aye, the least of all, 

Though clothed with this immortal thought; 
Our tribute, least of all that’s brought, 

Shaded bv sin, we silent fall. 


(fll)e Divcl) (Cunoe. 


49 


Vc mountains rising by 1 1 is might, 

Yc forests moving by Mis breath, 

Yc leaping cascades from your depth, 

Ye lakes now sparkling in His light, 

Join all, one glorious song to raise, 

Mending with choral powers above, 

Who glow and burn with seraph’s love, 

Mail ! Lord of all, Ancient of days l 

LVI. 

Once more the waters call us, and the trees 
Wave a glad welcome as we sally forth ; 

The lake is stirred, kissed by the morning breeze, 

As o’er it we press onward to the north ; 

Now clearer show Katalulin’s channeled sides, 

Cut, gashed and tortured by the torrent’s slides. 

LVI I. 

Wild Deipskencag’s bold rapids strike the eye, 

Sheer down a hundred feet the waters pour, 
O’er ragged rocks which fling the spray on high, 

Hushing all other sounds with thunderous roar; 
Silence was frightened from this forest shade,. 

Since first this torrent had its channel made. 


I 


60 ®ljc Bird) (Urttioc. 


I .VI 1 1. 

Wc In nd anil carry by — a toilsome task ; 

A huge black bear puts in a prior claim, 

Stops the first guide, as if he fain would ask 

The hold intruder, “Whence and by wink 
name?" 

Happy for him, or may be for the guide, 

Our empty rifles with our rods arc tied. 


MX. 

Oh ! for the painter’s magic art and hand, 

To catch the picture opening to the eye, 
As out wc shoot and leave the trembling land, 
Where the wild waters rush so madly by. 
Did Nature, weary with her rougher task, 

Drop this rare gem as on she sportive passed? 


LX. 


A long, smooth reach of pearly waters lie ; 

The rich, green forests, fringing all the shore, 
Inclining gracefully, as if to spy 

Their image glassed in beauty evermore ; 

No breath of air the surface stirs to send 
A quiver to the boughs which o’er it bend. 


®l)e Bird) €tinoe. 


61 


I .XI. 

i 

t 

The lofty mountain seems in deep repose • 

Under these noontide beams which fill the 
air ; 

In this bright mirror all his grandeur shows, 

Quaintly reversed in the deep shadows there. 

It seems a sacrilege to break the spell ; 

VVe pause and gaze, while high our bosoms swell. 

• • 

LX1I. 

0 

Night finds us now at Abol-jackanagus, 

Our final goal here joyfully is found ; 

Weary we rest, no earthly care to plague us, 

Our tents we pitch upon a rising ground. 

Some sort their flies, proceed their lines to bend, 

Others prepare the mountain to ascend. 

I, XIII. 

% 

A silver stream from down yon airy height, 

Soft rippling o’er the sands sweet music makes. 

Joining the stately river, calm and bright, 

Which, like a mother, to her bosom takes; 

Home of the speckled beauties, where they play, 

Flash their bright sides and leap to take their prey. 


52 


dljc Bird) (ffonoc. 


I .XIV. 

I joint my rod, reel on the silken line, 

Adjust my lender, tic the snooded flics, 

Push the light birch out where the waters join. 

A graceful sweep I They light I Ha, there’s “a 
rise I” 

lie snaps, 1 strike, the whizzing reel loud sings; 

1 check, he leaps, sheer out of water springs. 


I, XV. 

lie shakes his head ; in vain, the barb is fixed ; 

Madly he dashes, gives a fearful strain ; 

He leaps aloft; his gold and ciimson mixed 
Plash in the sunlight ; off he starts again ; 
Hold hard I the supple rod meets butt and tip; 
He yields — the net I now beneath him slip. 


J.XVJ. 

There in the birch the beauty lies in sight, 

A cubit long, his jaws extended wide, 

1 1 is quivering fins, coal black, but t ipped with white, 
Crimson and gold, spot all his upturned side. 
Poor victim of false confidence, too late 
He finds a barb hid by a tempting bait. 


®l)e Uivcl) (ffanoe. 


63 


LX VI l. 

O Walton, patron of “the gentle art 1” 

Whose stirring pages, read in days “lang syne," 
With love of angling fired my youthful heart, 

And cherished still, though past my early 
prime. 

Yet, not in Avon or the winding Dee, 

Wast thou permitted rarer sport to see. 


LXV11I. 

Ah ! many an angler flings the gaudy fly 

Upon life’s sparkling waters. Ardent youth, 
Unwary, snap the lure to Passion's eye, 

'J'oo late to find ’twas semblance and not truth. 
Knchanting songs the tempting sirens sing, 

While gilt and tinsel hide the fatal sting. 


LX IX. 

A truce to sentiment ! John takes the fish 
Dressing it in his most artistic style : 

Anon appears a richly- flavored dish, 

Hard tack and coffee flank the generous pile; 
Not Parker’s best. can with this dish compare, 

Or Palais Royale Cafe show such fare. 


I 


54 


ffilje Bird) (ffnnoc. 


I.XX. 

High noon ! Oppressive is the heated air; 

And Imrk ! a low, deep, distant growl is heard. 
“ Pomola’s angry," says a guide, and there 

Is a deep silence ; hushed the song of bird. 
Anon a sharp report breaks out, and now 
A misty cloud rests on Katahdin’s brow. 


I, XXI. 


Now all at once the unmasked batteries pour 
Terrific peals; the blinding lightnings play; 
Down pours the rain ; the rising winds loud roar ; 

'the forest shakes; the lofty pine-tops sway; 
The rolling clouds fill all the air, and soon 
Darkness enfolds us in its sable gloom. 


LXXJ1. 


’Mis quickly over, and the welcome sun 

Smiles brightly on the tranquil flowing river — 
Like some fierce battle sternly fought and won ; . 

The dripping leaves on bending branches 
quiver ; 

# 

The mountain peaks against the clearing skies 
Clear and distinct in solemn grandeur rise. 


®lje JBivcl) daitot. 


55 


I.XXI1I. 

Our final night at Abol. In the gleam 

Of the last camp-fire some have climbed the 
mount, 

Others have whipped the Sourdnahunk's wild stream, 
Bringing full creels which well not stop to 
count, 

For we must go ; the prospect’s dark ahead, 

The cook announces, “We are out of bread.” 

• 

LXXIV. 

And such a summer evening ! The last shower 

lias cleared and cooled the hot and stifling air; 

Under the glowing sky we feel the power 

Of the inspiring scene so wondrous fair; 

The rising moon through the dark forest glows, 

On the smooth water trembling shadows throws. 

LXXV. 

/ 

The tale now falls to Henry, an old trapper, 

Familiar with these mountain streams and lakes; 

With knapsack on his back and rubber wrapper, 

In early winter he his journey takes 

Into these mountain wilds to camp, and bring 

Ilis pack of peltries out in early spring. 


Qlljc Miid) (ffcinoc. 


no 


1 1 i.nuv's Si < v. 

I’ve l>ccn a trapper, boy and man, 
(Mins the old hunter’s story ran,) 

For more than forty winters past. 

Through deepening snows and wintry blast ; 

Oft up Katahdin’s wooded base 

The antlered moose has led the chase, 

Day after day o’er crusted snow 
Where the dark hemlocks thickly grow. 

Oft climbed that mountain’s rocky sides, 
O’er gulches formed by torrent slides, 

Far north where the St. Francis flows 
Fed by the winter’s melting snows. 

I’ve trapped the cunning beaver there, 

Set for the wily mink the snare, 

Or, binding on the light snowshoe, 

C hased the swift-footed caribou ; 
but then, you do not care to hear 
Of hunter’s life from year to year. 

Then listen while I briefly tell 
Of what once to myself befell. 

T hirty years since — it seems a dream — 

I trapped on Sourdnahunk’s wild stream, 
And yet, though left so far behind, 

As vividly upon my mind 

That winter’s strange events arc cast 

As though but yesterday they passed. 


dljc Bird) CToitoc. 


67 


Alone I ever choose to be, 

A hunter wants no company; 

His comrades arc the forest trees, 

Made vocal by the whispering breeze ; 
The twittering birds that gather round, 

T he wolf’s wild bark, the rolling sound 
Of some old forest tree that falls ; 

Or, what the stoutest heart appalls, 

When ringing on the midnight gloom 
The panther’s fiendlike screech will come. 
Afraid? I knew not what was fear, 

My tried and trusty rifle near; 

My camp door needed bolt nor bar, 

No burglar ever strays so far. 

Kach morn my traps I visit, then 
Bring to the camp my game, and when 
The morning’s work is done, I bind 
The snowshoes to my feet to find 
The beat of moose or track of deer 
To yield my table’s homely cheer. 

At evening then my traps rebait ; 

The supper o’er, my pipe I take, 

Stir up my camp-fire’s cheerful glow. 

My winter days thus come and go. 

That winter when my tale appears, 

The coldest was for forty years ; 

« 


C8 


®l)c Bird) QFunoc. 


I knew it l>y flic thickening fur, 

The Indian's true thermometer; 

I knew it hy the mists which rose 
From rapid streams which never froze; 
The loud report of bursting trees, , 

The rending rocks the frost king cleaves. 
A storm, the like I never knew, 
bike demons wild the north winds blew; 
Peep, and still deeper fell the snow, 

The burdened trees were bending low. 
For days my paths I failed to explore, 

By drifting snows so covered o’er. 

Close in my camp, my peltries dried, 
With food and fuel well supplied, 

Content I cat, and smoke, and doze, 

And wait the angry tempest’s close. 

One night, the day’s work done, I lay 
Musing the sluggish hours away; 

I had not for the night retired, 

But lay, by some past scenes inspired, 

Of dangers met and perils past. 

My fitful fancies flitting cast 
Weird shadows on the cabin’s wall, 

As the dull flames would rise and fall, 
When, suddenly, a woman’s form 
Appeared, as if to shun the storm; 

An Indian woman, thinly dressed, 


®l)e fill'd) (ttnnoc. 


I 


* 59 


Her bony hands her bosom pressed, 

Her hollow cheeks, disheveled hair, 

And sunken eyes, showed dark despair; 

J I cr bloodless lips, compressed and thin, 
Her faded form, her shriveled skin, 
Though from her lips no accents broke, 
The demon Famine all bespoke. 

I am not timid, well you know, 

And yet I felt my blood to flow 
Hack to my heart ; an icy chill 
Through all my frame began to thrill. 

I quailed before those burning eyes, 

I vainly strove to speak or rise ; 

My tongue to move refused, my hand 
Rebelled against the will's command. 

I lay, it seemed an age, and gazed. 

One arm, at length, she slowly raised, 

i 

Pointed due north, and murmured, u Go l M 
Then vanished in the blinding snow. 

I sprang and opened wide my door ; 

The spotless snow no footprint bore. 

Vainly my efforts all were bent 
To learn from whence or where she went; 
Went back, my camp-fire fed, and lay, 
Restless, until the break of day. 

I rose and searched the forest round, 

Yet sign or footprint nowhere found ; 


CO 


®l)c Bird) Cditoc. 


Strove to dismiss the frightful scene, 

Saying ’twas hut a nightmare’s dream, 

Or, it might be, no doubt ’twas due 
To that late dish of muskrat stew. 

All day l mused the matter o’er, 

Saying, ’twas that, and nothing more. 

The storm was o’er. Through all the day 
1 cleared the drifted snow away; 
brought in my fuel for the night, 

Prepared fresh pitchwood for a light ; 

My traps reset, and, supper o’er, 

Weary I sought my couch once more. 

I may have slept, or dozed at least, 

When a shrill voice cried, u Henry Priest I” 

I started. (Sod in heaven ! As plain 
As you l sec that form again ; 

Her dark eyes glowed with angry glare, 

A fleshlcss arm she raised in air, 

Pointed tip north with gesture wild, 

In hollow accents said, 11 My child 1” 

Sac vanished — how f waited day, 

How passed those wretched hours away, 

I need not tell ; it came at last, 

A night like that I ne’er had passed. 

Hut ere the first bright beams betrayed 
The coming day, my plans were laid. 


®l)e Bird) (ffnnoc. 


Cl 


Up north, I heard, some Indians there 
llad camped in search of hunter’s fare. 
Early with food my pack supplied, 

My snowshoes to my feet I tied, 
Strapped my warm blankets to my back, 
And started oil a northern track, 
Resolved to solve this troubled dream. 

I sought and struck St. Francis’ stream, 
Crossed Umbczooksis’ frozen lake, 

Its northern outlet then I take, 

Still pushing on till setting sun 
Warned me my hard day’s toil was done. 
I camp ; but soon as morning light 
Threw its first beams upon my sight, 

I start ; but ere the midday sun 
I felt my task was nearly done. 

Signs which a hunter’s eye well knew — 
A trap I from the water drew, 

“A dead-fall” saw; a camp must be 
Not far away ; a blazed tree • 

1 struck and kept the trail, when, lo I 
A wigwam, covered half by snow ! 

No beaten track led to the door, 

No foot had crossed the threshold o’er 
Since the great storm of snow which shut 
Almost from sight that humble hut. 

I entered — horrors ! There she lies. 


62 


(ZLI|C Bivtli (ffnuoc. 


The form that twice had met my eyes, 
Wrapped in her blanket's scanty fold, 

Midst sifting snows, now fiend nnd cold. 

On her stilled breast a mass of fur; 

I looked, I thought I saw it stir ; 

At once unrolled it — lo I a child 

Stirred, woke, looked up, and faintly smiled; 

No fuel, food or fire within, 

Alone for days and nights slic’d been ; 

Her husband perished, starved or drowned, 
No hunter’s foot the hut had found ; 

She stripped her furs her babe to warm, 

And perished in that fearful storm. 

I hastened then a fire to raise, 

The hut soon felt the rising blaze, 

Then fed the famished child, and gave 
The mother’s form a snowy grave, 

Wrapped the poor waif in furs, and back 
Started upon my homeward track. 

How I the little stranger kept, 

How fed it, watched it when it slept, 

How brought it to my humble home, 

Where she is now a woman grown, 

1 need not tell ; but whence she came, 

Or what her tribe, or what her name, 

None knew. Enough ! I saved her life. 

You doubt my talc? — go ask my wife. 


®l)e 23irc!) (ffauoe. 


63 


I Y is tale was done; our waning fire burned low; 
The ghostly shadows, fitful, come and go; 

We rise, a sigh, “Good night,” a silent prayer, 

And sleep, sweet sleep, absorbed each bosom’s care. 

LXXVI. 

Now down the river gliding on the tide, 

We reach the rapids, shoot the fearful pass, 
Raised on a mountain billow now we ride, 

Now sink and plunge into the seething mass, 
While all around the waters boil and roar, 

Break on the trembling rocks and shake the shore. 

LXXVI I. 

Like frightened steeds the forest trees rush by, 

While the mad waters wildly leap and dance 
As the light birches o’er the rapids fly 
>\ftcr the leader in his swift advance, 

While the live echoes in the tall cliffs ring, i 
As on the breeze our joyful shouts we fling. 

LXXVI II. 

Now the bold leader shoots into the lake, 

Sweeps round to watch the others take the fall ; 
Onward we drive the venturous leap to take, 

Then backward send the soul-inspiring call ; 
Bounds each glad heart with sense of peril fired, 

While the blood leaps with life’s fresh pulse inspired. 


64 


Qtlje Bird) QTunoc. 


I.XX1X. 

Through the lagoon we teach bake Millinoket, 

Queen of the woods, with her three hundred 
isles ; 

Bordered with evergreen, a gem-set locket, 

Which King Kntnhdin’s solitude beguiles; 

A glorious mirror, where the monarch’s fare 
In changing moods the dancing shadows trace. 


I, XXX. 

Our summer voyage is ended, and no more 

Skims o’er the fairy lakes our birch canoe ; 

No more the balmy forests we explore, 

Or cast the fly, or golden sunsets view; 

Yet life’s stern battle ne’er shall break the spell ; 

My faithful guide, my birch canoe, farewell ! 

J.XXXI. 

I. eft, not forgotten ; ever when the brain, 

Wearied with labor, with hot fever burns, 

And the strained nerves quiver with racking pain, 
When thought, exhausted, from the hard task 
turns, 

To you I fly, O soothing power, for rest, 

As the tired dove flies to its shelleiing nest I 


! 



Henry Priest 1828 -1909 




Afterword 

By Sheldon W. Priest 

This Afterword is dedicated to my great grandfather, Henry Priest, whose pho- 
tograph has been added to this reissuing of Mark Trafton’s The Birch Canoe . 
Because only a small number of The Birch Canoe was printed in 1892, mem- 
bers of the Priest family have searched for years to find a copy. This facsimile 
was photocopied from the book that was located in the Fogler Library at the 
University of Maine. It was donated to the University by Mr. James Vickery of 
Bangor. 

My interest in this book is because Henry Priest was one of the four guides who 
accompanied the Reverend Mark Trafton on the canoe trip up the west branch of 
the Penobscot River. The Reverend Mark Trafton made his trips to the area be- 
tween 1860 and 1880, whereas the well-known American naturalist and essay- 
ist, Henry David Thoreau, made his last trip to the area in 1 857. The book Trafton 
wrote, The Birch Canoe , is highly valued by the Priest family because it gives 
us a greater insight into the life of Henry Priest. 

We were able to identify two more of the guides. Ben York lived in Nicatou. We 
contacted members of his descendants who believe that he was the guide that 
told the story to the “Lunk-soo.” 

“John of Nicatou full six feet four” is probably John Neptune, born in 1847. 
The legend of “Lover’s Leap” has been passed down through many generations 
in the Penobscot nation. 

The research into the genealogy of the Priest family was started too late, so 
little is known of Henry’s life from 1 828 to 1 855. There is one theory that Henry 
spent much of his youth living with the Indians. If so, this accounts for his keen 
knowledge of wilderness life. In 1862, Henry and his wife, Mary Shorey Priest, 
moved to Nicatou and in 1877, Henry was one of the signers of the petition for 
the Medway charter. Henry and Mary had seven children, only four of which 
survived. 

The legacy of the “Maine Guide” was passed down the Priest line through the 
next three generations. My grandfather, Horace E. Priest, guided for many years 
in the Moosehead Lake area where he was known as being a great bear hunter. 
His five sons became hunters, trappers and guides. My father was Horace F. 
Priest. 

The life of a sportsman was in the hands of his guide while exploring the Maine 
woods. From years of experience, the guide knew the dangers, the best places to 
fish, where to hunt, where to camp, how to cook, and, equally important, how to 
tell stories and legends around the evening campfire. 

Very often the relationship between the guide and sportsman extended to the 
guide’s family. It is interesting to note that Henry’s daughter gave her son the 
middle name of Trafton in honor of her husband’s friend. Still today, we recall 
our excitement at Christmas when gifts were received from those sportsmen who 
had great respect for their Maine Guide. 


Throughout The Birch Canoe , the Reverend Trafton reveals the contrast of life 
in the city and the quiet, peaceful life he enjoyed on his trips in Northern Maine. 
The forests, lakes, and mountains are still there, but, for the most part, the pio- 
neer spirit has been lost. We are, therefore, very grateful to those, like Mark 
Trafton, who have preserved this spirit for future generations through the written 
word. 

Respectfully submitted, Sheldon W. Priest, Lincoln, Maine, August 1996 


Acknowledgments 


The author of this facsimile and Afterword, with the risk of missing someone, 
wishes to acknowledge the help of those who have made this printing of “The 
Birch Canoe" possible: 

• Special Collections at the University of Maine Library at Orono for their help 
in photocopying the original 

• Mr. James Vickery, who gave the book to the Library 

• Alan Hawkins for his advice and encouragement 

• Betty Gubler for proofreading the Afterword 

• Helen Powers, Carole Binnette and Arnold Neptune for help in identifying the 
guides. 



















































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